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LECTURE II.

ORIGIN OF SPEECH AND OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE,

ALTHOUGH, for the reasons assigned in the introductory lecture, the plan I propose to pursue does not conform to philosophic method, it will not be amiss to follow the example of more scientific speakers, by prefacing these lessons with a formal announcement of the subject to be discussed, and a definition of the terms of art employed in propounding it.

The course upon which we are now about to enter has for its subject the ENGLISH LANGUAGE, the mother-tongue of most, and the habitual speech of all, to whom these lectures are addressed. It may seem that the adjective English, and the noun language, are so familiar to the audience, and so clearly and distinctly defined in their general use, that no inquiry into their history can make their meaning plainer. But our business is with words, and it will not be superfluous to examine into the origin and grounds of the signification ascribed even to terms so well understood as those which express the subject of our discourse.

Neither the epithet nor the substantive is of indigenous growth. The word language is derived, through the French, from the Latin lingua, the tongue, a name very commonly applied to speech, because the tongue, from its relative bulk, its flexibility, and the greater power of the voluntary muscles over it, is the most conspicuous, if not the most important, organ concerned in the production of articulate sounds. The Anglo-Saxons had several words for language, as gereord, gepeode, lyden,* reord,

*There is a confusion between the Saxon lyden (læden or leden), the Old English leden, and the national appellative Latin, a parallel to which is found also in modern Spanish. Lyden (læden or leden), seems to be allied to the Anglo-Saxon hlyd, gehlyd, a sound, and hlúd, loud, to the Danish Lyd, the Swedish ljud, and the German Laut (noun), and laut (adjective),

spell, spæc, spræc, peodisc, tunge. Some of these cannot be traced back to any more radical form; and we therefore cannot positively say, as we can of the corresponding words in most other tongues, that they are essentially of a figurative character. Lyden is recognizable in our modern English adjective loud; spæc, in speech; tunge, in tongue; Chaucer and other early writers use leden for language, and spell still subsists in the noun spell, a charm, in the verb to spell, and as the last member of gospel.*

all involving the same idea; and probably also to the Icelandic hljbð, a sound, a song, a trumpet; which latter word also signifies, oddly, the absence of sound, namely, silence. The three Saxon forms of this word are employed also for Latin. Either this is a confusion of meaning arising from similarity of form, or lyden is a derivative of Latin, as the language par excellence, and so not allied to the other Gothic words above cited, unless, indeed, we suppose Latin itself to be derived from a root meaning an articulate sound, or language. In Spanish, especially in the Spanish colonies, an African or Indian who has learned Spanish, and acquired enough of the arts of civilization to make him useful as a servant, is called ladino, and Old Castilian was sometimes styled Ladino. On the other hand, Latin was used in Catelan to signify a foreign language generally. Thus in B. D'Esclot, cap. xxxv.: "vench denant lo rey, e agenollas a ell, e saludal en son lati," and cap. Xxxviii.: "e cridaren molt fortement en llur lati;" "en son lati," and "en llur lati," signifying respectively, in his language, in their language, which in this case was Arabic. Latin was also very commonly employed in the same sense in old French and Italian. From this use of the word, muy ladino came to mean, in Spanish, a great linguist, one knowing many foreign languages. The Old English latiner, by corruption latimer, an interpreter or dragoman, is of similar derivation. Thus in Richard Cœur de Lion, Weber ii. 97:

Anon stood up her latymer

And aunsweryd Aleyn Trenchemer.

* It is not clear whether the first syllable of this word is the name of the divinity, God, or the adjective gód, good. Bosworth (under God) and many other etymologists, adopt the former supposition; and this view is supported by the analogy of the Icelandic, which has guospjáll, God's word. On the other hand god-spell, as a compound of the adjective gód and spell would be the exact etymological equivalent of the Greek vayyehov, and the author of the Ormulum, who lived at a period when Anglo-Saxon was not yet forgotten, evidently adopts this derivation.

'And again,

Goddspell onn Ennglissh nemmnedd iss
God word, annd god tipennde,
God errnde, &c.

Ormulum, Preface, 157.

Off all piss god uss brinngep word
Annd errnde annd god tipinnde

The word language, in its most limited application, is restricted to human articulate speech; but in its metaphorical use, it embraces every mode of communication by which facts can be made known, sentiments or passions expressed, or emotions excited. We speak not only of the audible language of words, the visible language of written alphabetic characters or other conventional symbols whether arbitrary or imitative, of the dumb and indefinable language of manual signs, of facial expression and of gesture, but also of the language of brute-beast and bird; and we apply the same designation to the promptings of the silent inspiration, and to the lessons of the intelligible providence, of the Deity, as well as to the voice of the many-tongued operations of inanimate nature. Language, therefore, in its broadest sense, addresses itself to the human soul both by direct intuition and through all the material entrances of knowledge. Every organ may be its vehicle, every sense its recipient, and every form of existence a speaker.

Many men pass through life without pausing to inquire whether the power of speech, of which they make hourly use, is a faculty, or an art-a gift of the Creator, or a painfully-acquired accomplishment-a natural and universal possession, or a human invention for carrying on the intercommunication essential to social life.* We may answer this query, in a general way, by

Goddspell, and forrþi magg itt well
God errnde ben gehatenn, &c., &c.

Layamon, iii. 182, v. 29508, has

Ormulum, Preface, 175.

& beode per godes godd-spel;

and preach there God's gospel, a phrase not likely to be employed if gospel had been understood to mean, of itself, God's word.

The phrases, godspell that guoda, the good gospel, Heliand, 1, 17, and spel godes, the word of God, H. 17, 13, 41, 15, 19 and 81, 8, seem to show that in the Continental Old-Saxon, god-spell was derived from god, God, and spell. Schilter adopts the same etymology for the gotspellon of Tatian; gotspellota themo folke, evangelizabat populo, c. xiii. 25; zi gotspellone Gotes rihhi, evangelizare regnum Dei, c. xxii. 4, as also for gotspel, predigonti gotspel rihhes, prædicans evangelium regni, xxii. Godes spelboda, Cynewulf, Crist., p. 336. Skeat, in his Etymological Dictionary (Oxford, 1882), considers the question as settled in favor of the derivation from god, God, and spell, story.

* A similar question has been raised with regard to the cries of animals, which, for certain purposes at least, perform the office of speech. About the

saying that articulate language is the product of a faculty inherent in man, though we cannot often detect any natural and necessary connection between a particular object and the vocal sound by which this or that people represents it. There can be little doubt that a colony of children, reared without hearing words uttered by those around them, would at length form for themselves a speech. What its character would be could only be de

beginning of this century, Daines Barrington, a member of the Royal Society, tried a series of experiments to determine how far the notes of birds were spontaneous and uniform, and how far dependent on instruction and imitation. The result (which, however, has been questioned by later observers), was that though there is much difference in flexibility, power, and compass of voice in birds of different species, yet, in general, the note of the bird is that which he is taught in the nest, and with more or less felicity of imitation he adopts the song of his nurse, whether the maternal bird or a stranger. To what extent the notes of birds, of beasts, of insects, and of fish (for, in spite of the proverb, all fishes are not dumb), are significant, it is quite out of our power to determine. Coleridge, tenaciously as he adheres to the essential distinction in kind between the faculties of the brute and the man, admits that the dog may have an analogon of words. (Aids, Aph. ix.)

All will agree in denying to the lower animals the possession of language as a means of intellectual discourse; but even this conclusion must rest upon stronger grounds than the testimony of the ear. Sounds, which to our obtuse organs appear identical, may be infinitely diversified to the acuter senses of these inferior creatures, and there is abundant evidence that they do in many instances communicate with each other by means, and in a degree, wholly inappreciable by us. When a whale is struck, the whole shoal, though widely dispersed, are instantly made aware of the presence of an enemy; and when the gravedigger beetle finds the carcass of a mole, he hastens to communicate the discovery to his fellows, and soon returns with his four confederates. (Conscience, Boek der Natuer, vi.)

An English friend reports to me an instance where the lawn of a gentleman near London was so infested with ants that he had resolved to replace the whole surface with fresh turf, when early one morning a cloud of birds, many hundreds in number, of different species, which must have been collected from a considerable extent of territory, swooped down upon the lawn, tore open the ant-hills which nearly covered it, and devoured every ant and every egg of the whole colony. Had these birds communicated with each other and appointed a rendezvous where they could make themselves so signally useful? The distinction we habitually make between articulate and inarticulate sounds, though sufficiently warranted as applied to human utterance, may be unfounded with reference to voices addressed to organizations less gross; and a wider acquaintance with human language often teaches us that what to the ear is, at first, a confused and inexpressive muttering, becomes, by some familiarity, an intelligible succession of significant sounds.

termined by the method of Psammetichus, an experiment too cruel to be repeated by inquirers intelligent enough to be interested in the result. It is not improbable that a language of manual signs would precede articulate words, and it may be presumed that these signs would closely resemble those so much used as a means of communication among savages, and which are, to a great extent, identical with what have been called the natural signs of the deaf-and-dumb. If you bring together two uneducated but intelligent deaf-mutes from different countries, they will at once comprehend most of each other's signs, and converse with freedom, while their respective speaking countrymen would be wholly unable to communicate at all. And it is often observed at deaf-and-dumb asylums, when visited by natives of Polynesia, or by American Indians,* that the pupils and the strangers very readily understand each other, nature suggesting the same symbols to both. Thus, the savage and the deaf-mute

* The universality of this sign-language was beautifully illustrated at the Institution for the Deaf-and-Dumb, in New York, some time since, on the occasion of a visit made to it by a delegation of Sioux Indians. The Indians having been on a visit to their "Great Father" at Washington, and being on a sight-seeing tour through the country, paid a visit to the Deaf-and-Dumb Institute. "Some of the pupils were brought into the presence of the Indians, who sat stiff and upright on the benches, with their blankets wrapped around them, and all their paint on. One bright little boy was called upon to address them in the sign-language, which he did in a graceful and pointed manner. The Chief among the Indians remarked to his interpreter that he understood some of the signs. This being communicated to the principal, he had the boy illustrate by signs the manner in which hunters killed deer. This pleased the Indian Chief mightily, and he requested permission to explain the Indian's method of killing buffalo. This being granted, he sprang to his feet, threw aside his blanket, and in a wild and graceful manner, detailed, by means of signs common among the prairie tribes, a buffalo hunt-he pictured the mounting of steeds, the gallop across the prairie, the first view of the herd of buffalo, the chase, the scattering of the herd, the rapid firing of the Indians, the wounding of some buffaloes, the killing of others, concluding with the final scenes of the butchering of the animals, the taking-off of the hide, the packing of the meat on the horses, and the return to camp. The mute boy followed him eagerly through all his wild gesticulations, and when he had concluded, turned to his slate and wrote down the entire story told by the Chief. This being interpreted to the Chief, he burst into an immoderate fit of laughter, a most unusual thing for an Indian to do, and patting the lad patronizingly on the head, devoted himself during the rest of his visit to cultivating his further acquaintance."

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